A little goes a long way.

My body is humming like a tuning fork in anticipation for tomorrow. Of course, the crushed Ritalin that I just snorted may have something to do with that. Nonetheless, tomorrow I get to be:

Meeting-Chairperson-for-the-day.

Oh yes. Tomorrow, at work, I get to chair the meeting of the "Core Services Team", which is basically everyone in our office who can't sign a nonimmigrant travel document. This includes the two graduate assistants (Brooke and I) and our fearless assistant, Ahsan; Noemi, the fabulous Spaniard H1-B specialist; the sassy administrative assistant for the office (Bette); the insurance specialist and decoration coordinator extraordinaire, Sally; the two not-yet-insane receptionists (Megan and Laura); the file specialist, aka filing dervish (Josephine); the receptionist for the Dean (Judith); and poor Tim, who is one of the computer dudes.

Hahahaha! Power! They gave me power! It tastes like chicken!

Under a pile of soiled underwear in my closet, quietly reeking, my Ouija board laid sprawled where I flung it after my last encounter. As my room filled with the stench of the crypt and the ozone-smell of a summer thunderstorm, I summoned "Mitch", who initially demanded sacrifice. I opened a bag of chips (Krunchers) and tossed a few onto the board where they vaporized instantaneously. Turns out "Mitch" went to India for a week to see the Taj Mahal; thankfully, he had repatriation insurance. "Delhi belly" can kill you if you are already a heroin addict.

Me: So, "Mitch", ate some of that street food, huh? Or was it unwashed lettuce? Perchance some ice in a frothy mango lassi?
"Mitch": I...l...o...o...k...e...d...l...i...k...e...I...w...a...s...p...r...e...g...g...e...r...s.
Me: I hear that when your belly is distended because it's full of parasites, that happens. Bet that was a good time. So, "Mitch", I am chairing a meeting tomorrow. How can I be a good chairperson? What should I do? Also, how is it that people who aren't possessed of an extra chromosome can watch "The Biggest Loser?"
"Mitch": J...u...s...t...b...e...y...o...u...r...s...e...l...f.
Me: Now, "Mitch", you're pissing me off. Remember: I have the Krunchers. Don't make me summon someone cool, like Pol Pot.
"Mitch": W..h...a...t...g...o...o...d...w...o...u...l...d...t...h...a...t...d..o...?...
Y...o...u...d...o...n...t...s...p...e...a...k...K...h...m...e...r.
Me: Well, apparently I speak fluent "Dumbass", because I am in full franchise of this conversation.
"Mitch": Y...o...u...l...l...m...a...k...e...a...g...o...o...d...d...e...s...p...o...t.
Me: That's more like it, bitch. Here's another load of chips for your perpetually emptying belly.

"Mitch" later on told me (after half a bag of chips; honestly, I began to wonder if I really had Sally Struthers out there in Dead People Who Get Bored Land) that the reason people watch "The Biggest Loser" is because, quite simply, humanity is doomed, so incredibly doomed. Anthropologists are excavating mass graves in the forests of Europe that will be used as evidence for genocide; paramilitary death squads rove the equatorial rain-forests of Sub-Saharan Africa; Buddhist monks are dousing themselves in kerosene and setting themselves ablaze protesting China's continued rape of Tibet; somewhere in the West Bank, the power struggle for a country that doesn' t even exist yet rages; and people are out there trying to buy a ten-year-old grilled cheese sandwich that has the face of the Virgin Mary seared into it by a $3.99 Wal*Mart Special frying-pan.

It's a measure of comfort that I am not a drinking man. *Muffled chortle* OK, even I, master of deadpan, couldn't pull that one off. There's one hard cider left in repose in my fridge; with any luck, my latent telekinetic powers have already opened it and will soon drag it to my side.

Till tomorrow,

Dom

PS. No really! You don't have to post! I hate it when people post! Makes me gag! *tear*